CHAPTER 21

After finishing dinner in the cafeteria and running some laundry, Ji-Won climbed the stairs toward his room, his footsteps light with exhaustion. Suddenly, Soo-Jin appeared from the hallway, her grin bright as her voice broke the silence. "Hi, Oppa! Heading back to your room now?" she asked, her tone warm and familiar, like an instant spark in the dimly lit stairwell.

Ji-Won turned to her, a small smile softening his tired expression. "Yeah, Soo-Jin. Got to head in before work."

Her eyes widened, curiosity and a hint of concern brightening her gaze. "Oh, really? A job this late?" Her voice had that playful note but also a flicker of worry, making Ji-Won pause.

He tilted his head, an eyebrow raising slightly. "What about you? Running errands at this hour?" he asked, with a touch of amusement, his curiosity piqued.

She shrugged, brushing it off casually, but her eyes sparkled with that playful glint he'd come to know well. "Just some late-night tasks, you know how it is."

Ji-Won nodded, returning her smile with a gentle wave. "Alright then, see you later, Soo-Jin." With that, he turned and headed toward his room, quickening his pace as if the night itself were pulling him forward.

Once inside, he dropped his bag onto the study chair with a tired sigh, feeling the day's weight settle onto his shoulders. He crossed to his cabinet, reaching for a clean shirt when something small and familiar slipped from between the folded clothes—a piece of paper, neatly tucked away but now tumbling out as if begging to be seen. Ji-Won froze, his breath catching as he stared at it in his hand, recognizing it immediately: the half of an old drawing from years ago.

With slow, deliberate care, he unfolded it, eyes tracing the familiar lines and colors that once painted a complete picture—something he had shared with his Hyung. His fingers grazed the torn edge, the roughness of the paper mirroring the ache that welled up within him. A wave of nostalgia and longing washed over him, filling his gaze with bittersweet softness. The drawing, though faded, bore the same warmth and memory he'd clung to all these years. Somewhere out there, his Hyung held the other half, and he wondered—"did he remember too?"

For a moment, he let himself imagine the reunion, though the image was blurred. He wondered what his Hyung's face looked like now, with only the figure from their childhood remaining vivid in his memory after so many years apart. All he could summon was a silhouette, a shadow of the boy he once knew. In his mind, the figure stood before him, faintly smiling, extending a hand to offer the other half of the torn drawing. It was more than just a scrap of paper; it was the embodiment of everything they had lost, the distance time had carved between them. Yet, despite all the years, Ji-Won clung to the hope that somehow, the two halves could be joined again, fitting perfectly, as though they had never been torn apart.

"It'd be happier here if Hyung were with me," Ji-Won whispered, his voice a soft echo in the empty room. He held the torn paper with a tenderness that belied his pain, his expression one of wistful yearning mixed with an ache so deep it felt rooted in his very soul. The absence of that missing piece weighed heavy on his heart, making the quiet of his room feel emptier than ever.

With a sigh, he carefully folded the drawing and returned it to its place, his movements slow and reverent, as if preserving a sacred memory. For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the spot where he'd hidden it, his thoughts drifting through the unspoken words and what-ifs that haunted him.

Ji-Won shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear the lingering sadness, but the weight of it remained etched into his posture. His shoulders slumped as he turned away, quickly changing into his work clothes. Just before he left the room, he cast a last, lingering glance back, his eyes filled with unspoken longing and the quiet ache of hope against time. Then, with a slow exhale, he shut the door behind him, as if closing off the emptiness that still pressed against his heart.

***

The night was settling in deeper, casting a soft, warm glow through the convenience store windows as lights from the street outside flickered. Inside, the quiet hum of refrigerators and the gentle ding of the doorbell created a comforting rhythm. Ji-Won stood behind the counter, scanning items with practiced ease, his gaze occasionally drifting out toward the darkening street. Hye-Rin, was nearby, restocking shelves while humming a soft tune. They had fallen into a relaxed rhythm—small talk about school, shared grumbles about picky customers, and the occasional joke to lighten the monotony. Ji-Won found comfort in these moments; they made the quiet hours feel less lonely.

In the middle of their chatter, Ji-Won noticed Hye-Rin's movements beginning to slow, her hand slightly trembling as she placed a can on the shelf. Her face was pale, her brow knitted as if she were struggling against a wave of nausea.

"Hye-Rin, are you alright?" Ji-Won asked, concern flickering in his voice as he paused, eyes fixed on her.

Hye-Rin turned to respond, but before a word left her mouth, she faltered, one hand pressing to her forehead as if to steady herself.

"Oppa..." she whispered, a slight tremor in her voice, her face now alarmingly pale. Suddenly, a thin trickle of blood ran down from her nose, stark against her complexion, pooling at her upper lip.

"Hye-Rin, just hang on!" Ji-Won's voice shook with a blend of urgency and fear, his eyes darting to the first-aid kit behind the counter. He reached out, gently grasping her arm to steady her, his touch reassuring yet tentative as if he feared she might break under the pressure.

Her knees began to buckle, and Ji-Won quickly supported her, one hand resting on her shoulder while the other reached to steady her back. "It's okay, Hye-Rin," he murmured, his voice low but firm, fighting to keep the panic from seeping in. "I'm here. Just breathe."

With a shaky hand, Ji-Won reached into his pocket, fumbling to pull out his phone. His fingers trembled so violently he nearly dropped it, and he struggled to tap the emergency number. Finally, his thumb pressed down, and the dial tone began to ring—a sound he barely registered over the pounding of his heart.

"911, what's your emergency?" the operator's calm voice rang out, pulling him into the present moment.

The story doesn't end here...